


Breakfast in Bed

by The_White_Rabbit42



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Oral Sex, Pleasured awake, Smut, Winchester!Sister
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-15
Updated: 2019-07-15
Packaged: 2020-06-28 13:15:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19813036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_White_Rabbit42/pseuds/The_White_Rabbit42
Summary: Gabriel starts his morning by savoring one of his favorite meals.  You.   (Sequel to Home)





	Breakfast in Bed

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is a sequel to Home which can be found here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16734876

It’s amazing how you already know he’s not there in the space beside you. You don’t even need to check, your arms heavy at your side as sleep keeps your thoughts slurring muzzy. 

“Babe… what’rydo...?” 

Gabriel’s surprised you manage to get that many words out before you slip back out of consciousness, though he can feel the way some parts of your brain are beginning to shake off the fog at the light pressure his mouth leaves as he presses a series of kisses down the center of your body. 

There isn’t as much activity as he pushes your T-shirt up to your chest, exposing the softness of your stomach. Though, he aims to fix  _ that _ , but before he does, he takes a moment to admire you, breath ghosting over you in warm, short waves. 

Your skin, however, feels  _ everything _ , from the sear of his fingers as he palms your waist to the gentle flick of his tongue, warm and wet along your hip. He can hear your nipples harden, cloth fibers giving the faintest of stretches as peaks form through your shirt. 

He notes with pride the way goosebumps radiate from his touch, your brain cells firing in ways that suggest pleasure rather than alarm. 

You draw the comforter up to your elbows, mistaking everything for a chill. 

He smirks. "Can't have that, sweetheart."

His hands emerge from beneath the covers, gently cupping your breasts and drawing a breathy sigh from you. He loves every inch of your curves, how the lean hardness of your old life has faded beneath soft, well-nourished contours. He could spend hours appreciating them, but that's not on the menu for  _ this  _ morning.

His thumbs begins tracing a wide arc, starting at the edges of soft swells before moving toward the center. Round and round they go at a maddening pace, drawing your senses into awareness and making them stand on end despite the fact that you're still so very  _ not _ awake. 

Your body  _ knows _ , a petulant whimper catching in your throat. Your need sparks; beautiful, fleeting hues across synapses that remind him of clusters of Christmas lights. You arch into his touch as he continues, feather light, drawing out the colors as he keeps himself just shy of reaching taut nubs. 

They never reach them, and the spectrum that flares when he pulls his hands from your chest resonates closer to frustration. 

That  _ almost  _ rouses you. Definiately  _ a _ rouses as he listens to the cadence of your heart get a little faster, your blood rushing lower. 

You mumble something that suspiciously sounds like  _ dick _ , though it’s hard for him to tell. 

His lips give a wide stretch before descending upon your naval, hands teasing along your waist. They hook beneath the band of your underwear, dragging it down as his fingertips drink in the smoothness of your skin. 

Cotton whispers along your thighs which shift in response, and he leaves the garment bunched around your knees. He could just snap them away, but you don’t like that. You want everything to be as normal as possible, and there’s something oddly rewarding to him about doing it all the “hard” way. 

It’s been easier than he thought, living like a human rather than just pretending to be one. No magic snaps. No shortcuts. No mojo whatsoever (save the occasional indulgence in the bedroom), though he still doesn’t understand the need to spend so much time away from you. 

Sure, you both have a keener appreciate for the time together, but he would regardless, knowing that your lifespan will pass by him in the blink of an eye. 

He hasn’t told you that. He’s not sure how to, because he knows how difficult it is for you already. You try so hard to keep your insecurities hidden, but he can’t help but pick up on the questions that plague your mind late at night when you think he’s sleeping. 

_ How long before my youth fades and I no longer catch his eye? _

_ How long before the novelty wears off and he grows tired of me?  _

_ When will he realize he deserves so much more than I can give him? _

He doesn’t. If anything  _ you  _ deserve more, but he has yet to find a way to make you believe that. 

But, most moments you’re happy. With him.  _ Together _ . And  _ that’s _ all that matters. 

He brings his mouth down at the edge of your hip, smiling at the way you wriggle as he hits a sensitive spot. He’s spent hours mapping them out, each one of them seared into his mind. What really amazes him is the way you’ve diligently memorized his as well, as much as you can anyway, given the limits of human cognition. 

He’s never met anyone who’s so focused on  _ him _ . On what he likes. His thoughts. His feelings. It’s like he’s as much your world as you are his, and he almost doesn’t know what to do with that. 

Pleasure, however, now  _ that’s  _ an area he knows. 

By the time he’s scraping his chin against your thigh he’s wearing a full on grin, the familiar tickle lighting up cells across your body and mind in ways he’s never seen with anyone else. It’s like you recognize him on a whole other level. With every fiber of your being, you brighten to him and _only_ him, whether or not you’re awake. 

When his tastebuds hit your folds you’re aware enough to hum, and your sweet tang erupts across  _ his _ awareness like the finest of nectars. Your legs part unconsciously as he tongues deeper, gliding along your slit to lap up the juices already gathering there before lifting higher. 

It isn’t until he reaches your clit that you finally float into consciousness, pleasure exploding across your neurons like fireworks in the night. 

You gasp, hand shooting straight beneath the covers as your instincts immediately take over. A fullness spreads through his chest at the way your fingers simply slide through the tangle of curls at the back of his head, fondly stroking, when months ago, you would have wrenched him off you in panic.

“Mmm,” your fingers tighten in his hair as you arch into him. “Whatcha doin’ down there?”

“Just having some breakfast in bed,” he purrs before getting back to business. 

He knows what you like, working his tongue around the sensitive bundle of nerves as his hands reach back up to your breasts. There’s no teasing this time as his fingers head straight for pebbled peaks, brushing lightly to watch those scintillating colors burst into flames before he gives your nipples a light pinch. 

“Fuck, Gabe,” you groan, legs shifting as you try to shimmy your panties low enough to catch it with a foot. 

He reaches down, assistance given in the quick snap of elastic. It draws a small white flicker of discomfort through your desire before quickly being drawn into it. 

Your range of sexual appetites has been a pleasant surprise. You like roughness as much as tenderness, the day and mood determining where along the spectrum you lay. Right now, you’re happy to let him take the lead, knees eagerly falling open with their freedom as you wait for his next move. 

“Take your shirt off,” he says. “I want to see you.”

You do, without hesitation, and before the garment even hits the floor he feels his chest stop moving. 

It amazes him, how you're still able to do that. He's had many attractive paramours over the years, but looks have only held his interest for so long. Kali held itt far longer than anyone, her tenacity reeling him back in every time he thought he might be ready to move on.

But you are different. As cliche as it sounds, you are the embodiment of beauty on every level possible, your mind and body lethal in their own right, but add your heart and soul to that mix and you are nothing short of stunning. 

He can't imagine a time where you won't steal his breath or send a tremor of nerves dancing through his system. 

“You’re so fucking beautiful, you know that?”

“Shut up." It's a knee jerk response, false irritation trying to cover the shy tiny tint that blossoms across your face and tugs at the edge of your lips.

You've gotten much better at accepting compliments from him, and he's noticed it's only in the moments you feel vulnerable that you revert to deflection.

"You're such a dork -  _ stop looking at me _ .”

He wonders if you realize just how many places you blush when you’re embarrassed? It’s not just your cheeks that get a dusting of pink, small rosy patches springing up across your chest and highlighting the tops of your breasts.

One day he'll find out just how many other shades he can paint your body on words and looks alone.

“Seriously, Gabe, if you don't get back to business, the only place you'll be dining this morning will be Louise's diner."

He holds back a chuckle, knowing his amusement would only rub salt into the rawness you feel beneath his gaze.

“ _ Somebody’s _ demanding before they’ve had their coffee." He infuses just enough sarcasm to toe the line of snarky, a place he finds you feel the safest when exposed. 

"Yeah, well…" You begin talking as he settles between your legs, hands smoothing up the back of your thighs as he hooks your knees over his shoulders. 

"You knew what you were getting into when you --  _ ohhh _ ."

You groan as the flat of his tongue immediately finds that sensitive spot again, licking broad strokes in ways he knows gets your blood flowing. 

“ _ Ah -  _ you're too good at this." You throw your head back into your pillow, rocking yourself into his face.

He pauses, just to be a shit, his tongue freezing in place.

"Ith thah a complain'?" He smirks, watching the glow of vivid colors flare bright with burnt copper as he takes it another step further and withdraws his mouth. "Because if it is, you're welcome to--"

"Eat me, choir boy." You're only partially joking, fingers grasping strands of honey, tightening their grip before pushing him back into position. 

This time he  _ does  _ chuckle, vibrations jolting your brain waves back to desire as he wisely doesn't argue. His goal isn’t to tease you, for once. Not much, anyway. 

No, today is about savoring. You. These simple moments where he can pleasure you awake in the comfort of a home you’ve created together, a place where you can slip back into an endorphin-soaked haze without being interrupted while he whips you up an  _ actual  _ meal. 

But first, he needs to finish his. After all, they say breakfast is the cornerstone of the day.


End file.
